


No Need to Fear the Night

by SebsNightmareCure



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Cooks, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes' Famous White Pasta, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dinner, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Nudity, JARVIS to the rescue, M/M, Memories, Nightmare Cure, Nightmares, No Romance, Not Beta'd, Pasta, People Usually Shower Naked, Platonic Bed Sharing, Platonic Stucky, Pyjamas, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Swearing, Tea Drinking, Team as Family, Under 1.5k Words, first fic, probably not canon compliant, showering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 14:55:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11946615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebsNightmareCure/pseuds/SebsNightmareCure
Summary: You don't need to fight your demons alone. Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes (platonic)





	No Need to Fear the Night

As the evening gave way to night, Bucky felt the familiar prickle of panic travelling trough his body. Every night was the same. He’d crawl into his bed, and there he would lay for hours, waiting for sleep. After his patience had melted away, he would toss and turn violently, throwing himself around until he was satisfied, and try desperately to sleep.  
It was better when he didn’t. The mornings were easier. Steve would rouse him from his exhausted stupor with a gentle tap on his door, peering into his darken room with a gentle smile, and invite him for a run. Bucky would eat breakfast, spar with whoever was keen, or bake. If it was a Sunday, he and Steve would take advantage of the Seniors Special at the cinema and see a movie.  
But on the nights where he managed it, he woke wishing he’d stayed awake. Jolting back into consciousness was never a good thing, especially when the screams that haunt your brain are the ones you caused yourself. Watching the ceiling for hours was far preferable to the highlights reel of his most gruesome memories. It made Bucky sick to wake to the sound of his own screams echoing through the halls of his floor, to feel his own sweat and tears soaking his hair and face.  
Bucky tried to push his fear down. He’s a grown-ass adult, for shit’s sake! He can handle this. Besides, he’s not special. Even children have nightmares. And they seem to deal with them a damn sight better than he does.  
Sufficiently chastised, Bucky made his way to the communal floor. They’d set up a chore roster and it was Bucky’s turn to cook. Throwing himself into the dish would help his mind off of his bed.  
Cooking had always calmed him down. There was something about chopping up a bunch of ingredients, seasoning them, and dumping them into a pan or a dish and producing a fantastic meal, packed with flavour. He also loved seeing his teammates’ faces when they enjoyed what he had made for them.  
Tonight, Bucky was making pasta. More specifically, he was making Bucky Barnes’ Famous White Pasta, dubbed that by Tony. It was the first meal he’s tried to make after he moved into the tower, and had instantly become a team favourite. It was simple, creamy, and covered in cheese, the perfect comfort food.  
Bucky was plating the pasta by the time the team started to trickle in. Steve and Natasha ambled in, sweaty and tired from their workout, the latter nicking a piece of pasta off the spoon before Bucky could pull it out of her reach. They took their places at the table as Clint dropped out of the vent, apparently following his nose, followed by Bruce and Tony, who had brought their work with them from the workshop. The other members of the team were scattered across the galaxy, so Bucky finished the six plates, before putting the rest in a Tupperware container in fridge.  
Dinner passed quite smoothly. Tony and Bruce continued their work, murmuring in Science Speak to each other between bites, while the two spies threw Conchiglie shells into each other’s mouths with startling accuracy, while Steve scoffed his meal noisily, pausing only to grin toothily at Bucky, giving his a sauce-covered thumbs up. It calmed his frantic heart a little, the casual, domestic way they all ate together.  
Dishes in the dishwasher, everyone moved onto their evening routines. The insomniac inventors disappeared back to the lab, and everyone else had camped out in the living room, apparently preparing for a movie night. Bucky decided not to join them, instead choosing to retreat up to his floor, and take a shower.  
When he’d first moved into the tower, showering was a weird experience. The bathroom on his floor was lavish, with high ceilings and giant furniture. He had more space than he even knew what to do with. What’s more, he had the option of unlimited hot water, and about sixty different soaps and body washes at his disposal. It had been a bit daunting the first time, and Bucky had spent as little time as possible washing himself. He was used to it now.  
Turning on the shower, Bucky let himself take a moment to just feel the water on his skin. It was warm and steady, beating against his skin. He stood, just feeling the water, for quite some time. It was soothing, and he took his time washing his hair and face, smelling the tangy, slightly artificial scent of Raspberry Pie Body Lotion. He stayed under the heavy fall of the shower longer still, leaving only when he started to feel wrinkled and uncomfortable warm. Wrapping himself in a stupidly large towel, he wandered to his bedroom.  
The clock on the wall told Bucky that it was getting late. He glared at it. It glared back. The dread he had been forcing down started to swell in his chest again. He wasn’t ready to face the night. He never would be. Fighting was pointless, and trying to drag out the time before his inevitable doom would only make him feel worse when the moment finally arrived. Accepting his fate, he groped blindly in his closet for some acceptable sleepwear. He snagged a pair of fleece pyjama pants, but after a few minutes of feeble searching for a shirt, he gave up. Shirts are overrated, anyway.  
Bucky climbed into his bed, and pulled up the ridiculously soft blankets, becoming a Bucky Burrito, before trying to relax himself into a subconscious state.  
It must have worked, because some time in the early hours of the morning, the brunet was torn unceremoniously from sleep by the sound of gunshots and the sight of blood. He sat up, clawing desperately at his chest, trying to pull the bullets out, before he was hit with the realisation that it was all a dream. Just a stupid motherfucking nightmare.  
He sat, chest heaving, staring into the darkness. Tears welled in his eyes. He wiped them roughly from his face. He was a grown-ass adult! He could do this, no reason for tears. He repeated the words to himself, a never-ending mantra of pain flooding his mind, making him want to cry more.  
There was a knock at the door. A gentle tap of knuckles, and the door slid open to reveal Steve, all blonde and pyjama clad, with a mug of hot tea in one hand. The blonde smiled a weak, sympathetic smile that said everything that he didn’t have the words to say.  
“Hi.” Bucky croaked weakly, still fighting the tears. He reached his arms out for the mug that Steve was offering.  
“JARVIS said you were crying out.” Steve sat down on the edge of the bed, and placed his hand on Bucky’s shin, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a calming gesture. “I thought you might need some help getting back to sleep. Do you want me to stay?”  
No. Bucky did not want him to stay. He was a grown-ass adult, he could- Bucky sighed. He could continue to hurt himself hiding from comfort, or he could sleep peacefully, under the watchful eye of his best friend. He may have been an adult, but that didn’t mean he had to deal with it all on his own. Besides, he wanted a goddamn hug.  
Nodding, he took a sip of the tea. It was warm and sweet and it spread throughout his body, soothing his stomach and his heart.  
Steve smiled, a big, hearty grin, and rose from his seat on the edge of the bed, tucking himself under the covers, and huddled in close to the brunet. It reminded him of when they were children, sharing a sleeping bag when it was too cold for Steve’s little body, or squishing uncomfortably on the tony couch in their Brooklyn apartment. It felt like home.  
Bucky drained the mug, setting it gently on the nightstand. He turned around, burrowing his face into Steve’s shoulder, breathing long and deep, letting the warmth and safety carry him away. He felt Steve’s chest rattle as he hummed a song that they both remembered well. It seeped into Bucky’s mind, like a shield, warding off the nightmares.  
He knew he would wake up in the morning to Steve’s gentle whispering, and he would join the man on his morning run. Tomorrow would be a day like every other, but this time, Bucky knew that he would always he someone to run to when his demons caught up with him. He no longer needed to fear the night.


End file.
